


Brother, Spare the Details

by Anonymous



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, M/M, POV Outsider, Untagged character cameo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-05-31 22:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15129503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Tony brooded long enough to make it obvious that he was brooding.  He took off the hat, put it on the bar in front of him, and stared down the barrel of his Bud Lite.  "I sort of faked my own death."Well, thought Lindsay, that just took a turn.





	Brother, Spare the Details

In a small, dusty bar in the middle of nowhere, the kind of place whose existence her mom would refuse to acknowledge, Lindsay looked at all three wines on offer before deciding to stick to vodka.

"The top shelf," she added. "Because I can tell those have never been opened, so they won't have gone bad."

The bartender stared at her for a second, then shrugged and turned around.

"You know what, make it a double. And leave the bottle down where you can reach it." The bartender was short and wizened and looked vaguely familiar, like the shaman in India. Which wasn't a racist thought, Lindsay told herself. She was not a racist person. Well, not as racist as other members of her family. Considering the rest of her family, it was practically a miracle how non-racist she was. But the bartender still looked like that shaman: wise, and mystical, and maybe just a little judgmental.

The TV, which Lindsay had discovered was always on in places like this, was running a piece on the latest development in the Mueller investigation. Lindsay watched as she drank. "And I thought my dad had the worst [bleep]ing attorneys," she said, then realized in horror that she'd done it again. She'd referred to a Bluth as a member of her family. Even after she'd finally found her birth family. Although--

"Yeah," said the only other patron at the bar. He was wearing a hat low over his eyes, but no hat would be low enough to hide his stupid facial hair, Lindsay thought. On the other hand, he was wearing designer jeans, and they fit, and fit nicely. So Lindsay, in need of an ego boost, decided to flirt with him as much as it took to make her feel better. "Makes you wonder why none of them are pulling a disappearing act."

"Yeah," said Lindsay. "It's not hard. I--I mean, my mother's neighbor vanished into thin air, and she can't even answer the door without tripping over her own two feet." She held out her hand. "I'm Lindsay, by the way."

He moved over to shake her hand--not to the stool next to her, but one away. "Tony."

"Well," she said, "it is very nice to meet you, Tony." She ran her fingers through her hair. "What brings you here?"

Tony brooded long enough to make it obvious that he was brooding. He took off the hat, put it on the bar in front of him, and stared down the barrel of his Bud Lite. "I sort of faked my own death."

Well, thought Lindsay, that just took a turn.

"I bet you're wondering why anyone would do that."

Lindsay wasn't. "You're trying to avoid going to jail because you don't want to be shanked by white power gangs and/or you think your wife might sleep with your twin brother while you're locked away." In her father's case, it had been a little of column A, a little of column B, a little of he couldn't handle the time for the securities fraud charge and he had the second-worst [bleep]ing attorneys.

"Man," said Tony, "I wish I had a twin brother. It'd be a lot easier than latex masks, and hiring people with the right height and build to wear them, and then getting EEOC complaints for discrimination against short people, and fat people, and people who just don't look good in leather." Lindsay did not say that if it was illegal to discriminate against any and all of those groups, her mother was in even more legal trouble, because clearly Tony was getting moody again. "I guess you could say I faked my own death because I was tired of living a lie."

"Oh my god," said Lindsay. Her glass hit the surface of the bar with a crack. As the bartender hurried over to fill it up, she placed a hand on her chest. "Me too! I recently found out I was adopted, and though I've been trying, and trying to fit in with my adoptive family, I had to go and find my biological one--" The bottle hit the bar just as hard in return, because apparently the bartender was fussy. "--and you won't believe how much more it makes me feel, like, well, me."

Her biological family was healthy and happy and outdoorsy. They woke up by eight every morning, and they didn't drink alcohol. Like, at all. At first Lindsay had been thrilled by how unlike the Bluths they were, and then she'd been dismayed by how unlike the Bluths they were. The closest they came to Bluthiness was that they owned, and frequently operated, a cornballer, but none of them had ever actually been injured by it. At least, not until Lindsay had come back into there lives, and then there'd been an electrical--

"Well," said Tony, "mine's more of the mid-life sexuality crisis variety."

"Oh," said Lindsay, who hadn't had enough vodka for this. "Great." She'd gone away to escape her family and ended up meeting a guy going through the exact same sort of thing as her ex-husband. "Well, I hope you're planning on being honest with your wife." He wasn't wearing a ring, which really seems like the kind of thing she should have checked before hitting on him. "Girlfriend. Whatever."

"I haven't figured out a way to tell her," said Tony. "I've barely figured out a way to tell myself." He sighed. Lindsay wanted to tell him she wasn't that interested in the story of why he wouldn't have sex with her, but he was going to tell it anyway.

"I had it all," said Tony, taking another gulp of the alleged beer and making a face. "Great career, hairless girlfriend, the April cover of _Illusionist Monthly_." The bartender, bless him, refreshed Lindsay's vodka. He wasn't wearing a ring, Lindsay noticed. Which was good, because she felt a special connection to him. Although maybe it was the vodka. "And then I ran into this erstwhile rival of mine. And I thought--well, what if I out him and destroy his reputation? And we--flirted. And I kept getting these chances to ruin him, and I didn't take any of them. And then, on Cinco de Quatro, an ex-girlfriend of mine suggested I have sex with her while she was wearing a face mask of him, and-- Look, he's like a foot taller than she is, and much flatter. I knew it wasn't her. And it was--amazing. Jesus, it was amazing."

Great, thought Lindsay. Not only was he telling her why he wasn't going to have sex with her, he was also telling her about sex he'd had with other people.

He sighed. "And it wasn't just the sex. We'd gotten... friendly. And it wasn't at all what I was expecting. And yet it was everything i was expecting and it... it scared me, you know?"

Lindsay did not know. But it wasn't like she had anything better to do in this tiny backwater and she assumed he was still going to buy her drinks. He'd better--

"So for the next two months, I hid. I hid in suitcases. I hid in seatrunks. I hid in an old bourbon barrel. I hid from myself until I couldn't hide anymore, and when he called to ask me, I had to go to him. And when I realized I had to go to him, I also realized I had to fake my own death.

"I didn't know who I was then. And I guess I don't know who I am now, what with me being legally dead and all. But I've been thinking about it, these last four months."

"Four months is a long time," said Lindsay, who'd bailed on her birth family after a similar amount of time. They'd started putting up Christmas decorations in September. And not as a passive-aggressive power move against their neighbors--they just "liked Christmas" that much. They had a CD rack full of Christmas music. Lindsay had "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" on repeat. Sometimes she'd switch it up with "Baby, It's Cold Outside," but "Deck the Halls"? Sung by an animatronic candy cane? It was like--

"Yeah," said Tony. "Just, you know, wondering what to do next." He paused. The bartender slid him another bottle, which he looked at with mingled horror and resignation. "Wondering if I should go back to him. Wondering if he'd ever forgive me."

"Well," said Lindsay, "if any of my exes faked his own death and then it turned out he wasn't dead after all, I'd never forgive him." Except maybe Herbert, depending on the quantity and quality of apology jewelry involved. "But I don't actually like my exes, and I'm guessing it's different for you and your guy."

Tony got a dopey grin on his face. "I think he likes me," he said. "He had this whole confession during the second of July Fourth of July parade. I almost considered not faking my own death, and then I realized that I felt the same."

"So go back to him." She diplomatically did not add duh, because biologically she was related to very nice, caring, respectful people, and she had to remind herself of that a lot. "Bartender, can I get another--"

The doors swung dramatically open, Old Western and pure schlock style. Tony was shoving his hat back on like he was some C-list celebrity whose continued existence would be news, and Lindsay rolled her eyes and turned to see if maybe this newcomer would buy her a drink and have sex with her, but it was actually her brother, and he would never buy anyone a drink.

Well, adopted brother. But still. "Gob, what on earth are you doing?"

"I'm dusting off my boat pants and loafers," said Gob. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"I meant what are you doing here, dumbass."

"Oh," said Gob, squinting as he hopped onto the barstool next to hers. "Mom's still looking for you. The election's pretty soon and we got a tip from some robot Michael works with."

"That can't be right."

"Then what does it say right here?" Gob pulled a crinkled piece of paper from his pants pocket. "M-a-i-b-y Bluth at something dot com. It clearly stands for I'm artificial intelligence bot, you Bluth."

The bartender, who must have heard something about Lindsay's family, made a disgusted noise and disappeared into the kitchen while Lindsay's glass was perilously close to empty. Fine. See if she'd leave a tip.

"No," said Lindsay, so distracted that she forgot again that the Bluths weren't her real family. "Mom can't want me back. I mean, the election is next week, and I've been missing for months. There's no way I'm going to win."

"Yeah, there is. You're way up in the polls."

"But I've been AWOL for most of the campaign!"

"Exactly." Gob snapped his fingers. "Without you there to remind them, voters think you're a guy named Lindsay, like that pathetic drunk from South Carolina."

"Typical," muttered Lindsay. She already hadn't been sure she wanted the job, but if modern society's misogyny handed it to her, she really didn't--

"But Sally's a girl's name, and she's out there all the time reminding everybody what a girl she is, so you have a twenty-point lead."

Lindsay's blossoming feminist outrage vanished upon being told that she was twenty points up on her old rival. "Suck it, Sitwell," she said, slamming a hand down on the bar in triumph.

"Yeah," said Gob, "suck it, Sitwell!" He banged the bar with his fist, then looked around. "Hey, speaking of, who do you have to blow to get a drink around here?"

And that was when, from Lindsay's other side, Tony cleared his throat. Ugh, Lindsay thought. She was trying to have a family reunion here--

"I was," he said huskily, "wondering the same thing myself."

Gob jumped to his feet. He spun around. He moved in a jerky, flailing crouch for the few feet it took to get to Lindsay's other side.

"Hi," said Tony.

"What," said Gob.

He grabbed Tony's chin and made a yanking motion. "Ow," Tony said, and then, "ow," again, as Gob's fingers slipped and knocked his hat off. "It's me, Gob! Not someone in a Tony Wonder mask."

"You? You? You're alive?" Gob dissolved into his hysterical sob-laughter. Oh brother, Lindsay thought, and wondered if the bartender would ever come back. "But I saw--how--with the cement--but you said--what--"

Tony Wonder probably thought that by kissing Gob it would get him to shut up. Hey, it always worked on TV. And now it worked for all of three minutes and fifty seconds, during which time the bartender reemerged to refresh Lindsay's drinks and Lindsay told him that if Tony thought that would make Gob silent, then he didn't know her brother. Then she cursed herself for once again referring to a Bluth as a member of her family. Were these really her kind of people?

Then again, her biological brother's wife was in the middle of planning a period party for her because Lindsay had never had one as a girl, and her biological dad really loved cashew cheese. Lindsay missed real cheese. She missed light cheese. She even missed powdered Parmesan with mustard.

As long as she was working her way through her identity crisis, Lindsay decided she might as well enjoy watching Tony discover that Gob did not stay quiet for any length of time. Lindsay's birth family politely respected everyone's right to be heard, and even thinking about that made her shudder.

"What," Gob began again.

"Same," said Tony, sounding pleased with himself.

He did not stay pleased with himself for long. "All this time!" said Gob. "All this time! All this time I thought you were dead as a dove, and you've been hiding out in Riverside! Do you know--do you even know--what it was like, finding you and then losing you all over--why, why, why would you even--" He was still holding Tony's stupid face and crying.

"Hey," said Tony, who was face-holding back. "I shouldn't have lied about there being no trapdoor. And I shouldn't have prearranged for the cement and faked my own death, okay? But I couldn't deal with my feelings for you."

"Oh," said Gob. He'd heard that before, although not the faked their own death part, or due to feelings for part either. "Most of the time people throw my stuff out onto the lawn instead. Sometimes they set it on fire."

In Mom's defense, Lindsay thought, she'd only done the fire thing twice.

"I would never do that to you," said Tony, staring deep into Gob's eyes. Gob, having never experienced tenderness before, just stood there like a squirrel in the headlights. "I was confused and angry with myself. I mean, I even considered conversion therapy, but it turns out they just do closets."

"Oh my god," Gob whispered, one hand over his heart. "Same."

They started making out again in a slow motion, soft focus, nineties music video kind of way. Lindsay sighed. It was weird, but now that she knew it was Gob Tony was in love with, she suddenly cared. She was--happy for Gob, she realized. In the same way she'd been happy for Buster when she'd heard he'd escaped from prison, although she'd never actually been happy for Gob before.

"Guess absence really does make the heart grow fonder," she murmured into her drink.

It also helped that after another five minutes of face-sucking, Gob took Tony's hand shyly and led him out the door, to the backseat of his limo. To all appearances he'd completely forgotten why Mom had sent him here and what the AI had told them.

"Maybe," she said to the bartender, who was now helping himself to her vodka, "maybe that's my real family."

The bartender eyeballed her.

"I mean, that guy poured a bunch of cement over himself to get out of being associated with us, right? And yet Gob took him back. Like, maybe we're fucked up, right? But if Gob's capable of love, maybe there's still hope for the rest of them." She circled the rim of her glass with a fingernail that hadn't been manicured in way too long. "I don't know, maybe I should go back in time for the victory party or something. Show them I can accomplish things. Get them their stupid wall." She frowned. "But until then, I should probably get a big floppy hat and some sunglasses so the Something AI doesn't find me again. Are there any boutiques in this one-horse town that aren't too embarrassing?"

The bartender sighed, and drank, deeply. Lindsay thought there was something familiar in the way he drank. It was the way she drank. It was the way her mom drank. The flick of the wrist and the gulp of the throat made her nostalgic for her childhood.

"Mom," the bartender said, "It's time to come home."

Lindsay panic-laughed. "Oh my god, do I look old enough to be a mother?"

Maeby pulled off her wig and face-mask. "Yeah," she said, and reached out to pat her mother on the shoulder. "It's okay, we can bring the vodka."

"Better grab a second bottle," said Lindsay. "You're going to need it when I tell you about your biological grandparents."


End file.
